I Know
by Writting2StayHalfSane
Summary: Nightmares are constantly swirling around her and only he can push them away with his gentle kisses and quiet knowing. Finnick/Annie


_For Cass. Merry Christmas, my dear. I can't tell you how much I've loved getting to know you. And a special thanks to Evan. Whithout him this story would not exist. _

* * *

"Good night, An," he whispers into my hair. I cling tightly to him, burying my face into his loose shirt. His arms are warm and strong around me. His smell is familiar, a weird combination of soap and salt. I feel safe here with him.

"Sweet dreams." He says it every night, and every night it makes me cry. He is being kind, he is being genuine, and I guess he really doesn't know that my dreams are never sweet.

I let a few tears fall, and then I choke back the rest. He lets me go. I smile up at him. "You too, Daddy. I love you."

I climb quietly into my bed. He catches the door handle on his way out of my room. The light pouring in from the hallway becomes less and less, until it is gone. It is too late to call him back now, but I wish I could. I don't like being alone.

The sheets over my body are cold from disuse. Goose bumps rise on my skin from the chill, but I like it. It lets me feel something real. I know I do not imagine the cold. I steady my breathing as I lie there, preparing myself for sleep. I think of nothing but the gentle in and out of my breaths, the rise and fall of my chest. My eyes quickly grow heavy, and although I do not like it, I let them fall closed.

Hazy pictures swirl around me in a sea of color. Shades of red, mostly. I try to stay put, but something is pulling me forward. I take light steps through the blur of colors. As I touch them, they fall away. They leave trees in their place. I keep walking, brushing my fingers against the rough bark as I go.

I seems like hours have passed when I finally come to a stop. I am sobbing by now, and I put my fingers up to my mouth to steady my quivering lips. I taste blood. Pulling my fingers away, I see them steadily dripping. Large drops of shining red liquid fall in a rhythmic pattern. My first instinct is to scream, but I don't. I am mesmerized by it.

The drops of blood continually grow larger and larger, but I don't feel any pain. I watch the steady drip, drip until the wounds have clotted the blood. The stream of blood slows then, until there isn't another drop that can push its way out of the gashes in my fingers.

Looking down, I see that my pool of blood has configured itself into a disfigured man. His skin is the dark brown color of old blood, while his clothes still have the sheen of new blood. He reeks, and though I know little about dead bodies, I think he smells like one.

He slowly pulls himself up from the heap on the ground, until he is standing right in front of me. I mean to take a step back, but I can't. He is shorter than I am, but not by much. He reaches out to touch me. I don't let him. Instead, I fall over and land hard on my back.

I move as fast as I can, without getting up or looking where I am going. I can't stop staring at this man. He stumbles after me, almost seeming to melt as he moves. He falls to his knees. As soon as he does, he calves are gone, splashing over the rough soil in a rush of bright crimson. I am loosing my energy quickly, but this prods me to go faster. This was a mistake, apparently, and my head collides roughly with a tree trunk.

My breath catches in my throat. I have nowhere to go now. The man inches closer and I notice for the first time that he does not have a face. The faceless man raises his hand, pointing at me with an accusatory finger.

I feel warm liquid on my forehead. I wipe my hands across it. I tear my gaze away from the man's melting fingers long enough to look at my own. There is blood there again. I look up, slowly, just in time to see the man dissolve. He splashes around me, drenching me in my own blood. Suffocating me in it.

I sit up with a start. Clutching my chest, I breathe in deeply. I almost choke on the air in my lungs as I let the trees fade away. Once I start to breath normally again, I gently lower myself onto my pillow.

I look up at the ceiling. I vaguely wonder why there seem to be checker-like patterns printed there before I realize that it is too dark to see anything. I repeatedly blink my eyes, hoping that those images will fade away. I look up again, refocusing my vision, and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that they have.

But now that the images are gone, I start to hear things. There is a strange buzzing sound. My ears start to ring and I am afraid that my awful headache will come back. I bring my fingers to my temples and rub them methodically. The buzzing subsides somewhat and for a moment, I am glad.

That is when the screaming starts.

I sit up suddenly again, this time flinging my mass of blankets off of my body. I run in a frantic search for whoever is in enough pain to make that kind of sound. My fingers brush my lips, as I wonder briefly if the screaming is coming from me. I am only frightened further when I realize that I am not the one making those awful sounds.

I walk quietly into each of the bedrooms in my house, even the ones that are always left unoccupied. I see my family members sound asleep. I watch their chests rise and fall softly. No one but me is awake. There is no one here screaming.

But the sound is so vivid and so clear. I collapse into a heap on the floor. I grip my head tightly in my hands and will the screaming to stop. It doesn't. I am afraid that it never will.

Red splashes across my vision, and in an instant I am caught up in a moment worlds away. I cover my ears, trying to push it away, but it's no use. I think I start to scream, but I can't tell a difference between the sounds of my screams, and the sounds of everyone else's.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. The sounds start to gently ebb away, so I know that it is Finnick. I cling tightly to him, gasping his name.

"I know," he whispers, "I know." There is something balled in my hands. I think that it is his shirt. I open my mouth to scream again, but he catches it in his own. Between kisses he whispers into my skin. "I know, Annie. I know."


End file.
